by Lori Drake
“Long time no see,” the other man said, meeting them just underneath the awning. The two men slapped palms and leaned into a hearty handshake, clapping shoulders.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” Dean replied, lips quirking in a half-smile.
“If you listen to the wind, you might be surprised what you can hear,” the other man replied, before shifting his attention to Joey. He held out a hand, but when she reached to shake it he clasped her fingers gently and brought her hand to his lips. His mustache tickled her skin as his lips barely brushed the back of her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Grant.”
His eyes were a deep stormy blue. As they caught hers and held them, she couldn’t quite dismiss the notion that he was peering into her soul. It was unsettling, and it distracted her from the fact that somehow this stranger knew her name without any introduction.
Joey broke eye contact and reclaimed her hand as soon as she could, stuffing it in her pocket for good measure. “You too, Mister…?”
“Harper,” the man said. “Why don’t you come inside and tell me why you’re here.”
“What, the wind didn’t tell you?” Dean quipped, flashing Joey a wink as he held the door open.
Joey chuckled awkwardly, still put off by Harper’s enigmatic ways and intense eye contact. Nonetheless, she followed him into the house. It was dark, especially in comparison to the bright afternoon sun. She squinted while her eyes adjusted, but even as the shapes and colors in the room resolved themselves it didn’t get much lighter. The decor was masculine; there was no hint of a woman’s touch to be seen. The furniture, floors, walls, everything was dark wood, charcoal grey or navy blue. Over the fireplace hung a portrait of a Mexican woman in a black dress with a red flower in her black hair. The flower was the only hint of red in the whole room, so it stood out.
The dogs came inside with them, flowing like a furry river toward the overstuffed sofa. Some made two hops to perch on the arms or back of the sofa while others settled on the seat cushions.
Harper led them through the living room to the kitchen. This room was much lighter, thanks to pale blue cabinets and a wide window without any sort of covering. The window was open, letting the ocean breeze roll into the room.
“Have a seat,” Harper invited, motioning at the table on his way past.
Joey and Dean settled on one side of the table, while Harper poured three mugs of coffee from an old-fashioned percolator pot. He really did seem to have known that company was imminent.
“So, what brings you to this side of the border?” Harper asked, once his guests were served and settled. “If you’ve come to ask for his hand, I’m afraid it’s not mine to give.” He winked at Joey.
“She’s a client,” Dean said, quickly setting the record straight before Joey had a chance.
“Ahh, I see. Still involved in that nonsense, are you?” Harper queried, lifting a brow and sipping from his mug as he settled across the table.
Joey glanced between the two men curiously, but Dean merely shrugged.
“Have you ever heard of someone being able to torture a shade?” He asked, getting right to the point.
Harper’s lips turned down, forming a wide arch under his mustache. “Can’t say that I have.”
Dean nodded, glancing at the ceramic mug cupped between his hands. “What about a spirit that you could hear, but couldn’t see?”
Harper’s blue eyes sparkled with interest. He leaned forward to rest an elbow on the table. “Not spirits of man, no. Nature spirits can be… wily.”
“What would you say if I said I’ve encountered both of those things in the last few days?” Dean asked.
“I’d say that you’re going to have to fill me in on a few more details.”
Dean proceeded to do just that, with help from Joey. By the time they were finished, Harper had abandoned his coffee and leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. “Witches are nasty business,” he murmured, thoughtfully. “They disrupt the natural order of magic in the world, manipulating it to their own ends. You sure this fellow’s a ghost?”
“What else could he be?” Joey asked, exchanging a glance with Dean.
Harper didn’t answer. Instead, he lingered a few more moments, then stood and walked out of the room without another word.
Blinking, Joey started to rise and follow but paused when Dean said, “He’ll be back.”
“Where’s he going?” She sat back down.
“To ‘consult the spirits’ I suppose.”
“Can he really do that?”
Dean smiled and tipped his head. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes. No. I guess not. This has all been kinda overwhelming.” Joey shifted in her chair to look out the window. “What did he mean about Chris not being a ghost?”
“I’m not really sure. There are a lot of different kinds of spirits,” Dean explained. “Ghosts, as you know, are the spirits of dead humans. Chris was human, right?”
Dean was smiling, but Joey’s pulse accelerated. “Right, of course,” she said quickly, but wondered if Dean knew that lycanthropes existed. After all, he seemed to know more about the supernatural world than she did at this point.
“I won’t pretend to be an expert in the paranormal, but trust me, he knows his stuff. If anyone can help, it’s Harper.”
“Why should I trust you?” She eyed him, thoughtfully.
He smiled and shrugged. “Haven’t steered you wrong yet, have I?”
“I guess not,” Joey mumbled, looking back out the window again. It was a shaky foundation to build trust upon, but she didn’t have a lot of options. “Can you talk to other kinds of spirits too?”
“Nah, just ghosts. Harper says they’re the easiest to talk to because they’re the most interested in being heard.”
“How do you know him, anyway? Is there some sort of annual convention for spirit talkers?”
“It’s a long story,” Dean said, shaking his head. “But he taught me everything I know, or at least everything I started out with.”
“Ahh. So, he’s your Obi Wan.”
Dean chuckled. “A little less wise, a little more wise-ass.”
“But he doesn’t approve of how you use your ability.”
“No.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Joey half-mumbled around a sip of coffee.
Shrugging, Dean set his cup down. “I wouldn’t expect you to, but you’re not seeing the whole picture.”
“By all means, enlighten me,” Joey said, turning toward him in her chair.
“You think it’s about the money. I charged you what I did because you can afford it. I was at the funeral. I saw the limos, the multi-thousand dollar suits… your family has money. Did I take advantage of that? Yeah. But you can’t say that two grand was a big deal to you. Not with a straight face.”
Joey considered this, frowning. It did make some grudging sense. “So… you’re saying that what you’re charging me isn’t what you charge everyone.”
“Exactly. I work on a sliding scale. Hell, sometimes I even work pro bono.” He raked his fingers through his curly hair and sat back in his chair with a sigh.
“But you let me think you were a money-grubbing asshole. Why?”
“I don’t need you to like me to do my job. Besides, telling you I was pricing high because you’re loaded wouldn’t have gone over well either.”
Joey grunted softly, allowing that both of these things were true. “If it’s not about the money, what’s Harper’s beef?”
“Dealing with ghosts is dangerous,” Dean said. He wasn’t bragging; his expression was too earnest for that. “Most spirits can’t interact with the physical plane in any meaningful way. Ghosts are different. They can manifest their will, for better or for worse. Usually, for worse. The more violent the death, or the older the ghost, the crazier and more destructive they can be.”
“Why do you do it, then?”
He didn’t answer right away, just stared down at his cup. “L
et’s just leave it at ‘to pay the bills.’”
It didn’t take a wolf’s nose to smell that bullshit. Joey smirked, but relented.
Silence settled between them until Harper returned. He had a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses perched low on his nose.
“Astral projection,” the older man said with a definitive air and dropped a heavy book on the table. It landed with a loud thud that provoked a few alarmed barks from the other room. Tiny toenails on wood announced a few of the startled dogs venturing closer to investigate.
“Is that really a thing?” Dean asked, brow furrowing as he reached for the book.
Harper removed his glasses, letting them dangle from the cord around his neck. “I knew someone once that could do it, but I’ve never tried it myself. I’m fond of having my spirit inside my body.” He sank back into his chair across the table and picked up his coffee, sniffing at it before taking a sip.
“Sorry, but what the hell are you talking about?” Joey asked, eyeing the book on the table. It was old, oversized and bound in worn brown leather. The title on the front was so faded even her sharp wolf eyes couldn’t make it out.
Dean drew the book closer, opening it. “In theory,” he explained, “It’s possible to reach a meditative state where your spirit leaves your body and enters the astral plane. It’s called astral projection.”
Joey moved to look over Dean’s shoulder as he carefully turned yellowed pages containing countless lines of hand-written text. It wasn’t in a language she recognized.
“You think Chris is astrally projecting? How is that even possible? He’s dead,” she pointed out.
“I’m not sure,” Harper replied and licked coffee from his mustache. “But based on what you’ve told me I’d say his spirit was forced out of his body before he died. That’d explain why he’s not manifesting like a normal ghost: He’s not on the spirit plane. He’s on the astral plane.”
Dean had gone quiet. He’d also stopped flipping pages, so something within the tome must have gotten his attention. His lips moved silently as he read. Joey put a hand on his shoulder and lingered where she stood.
“What does it say?” she asked, leaning down to peer at the text more closely—as if that might help her decipher it.
“It says the astral plane is more closely linked to the physical plane than the others. That’s why the spirits of the living can cross over into it,” Dean said.
“But Chris isn’t alive, so why’s he there?” Joey asked, frowning.
“I don’t know,” Dean said. “I think we’re in uncharted territory here.”
“Not entirely uncharted,” Harper interjected. “Skip ahead a few pages.”
Dean arched a brow, but did as instructed. Joey waited, impatient fingers drumming against his shoulder while he scanned the text for whatever Harper wanted him to find. When he did, he read it aloud.
“The body acts as a tether, allowing the astral walker to pass between the planes. If the body dies, the spirit cannot return and fades away within a matter of hours.”
“But it’s been days,” Joey pointed out. “How can he still be there?”
“This is where the witch comes in, I’d wager,” Harper said. “In order for Chris's spirit to remain, it needs to be tethered to something in the physical world. The witch probably linked him to something else.”
“Like, a magic dagger?” Joey blurted.
Dean twisted in his chair to look up at her. She felt Harper’s eyes on her too.
“Could be,” Harper said. “What makes you think it’s a dagger?”
“He was stabbed,” she said, attempting to walk the fine line between telling them enough without telling them too much. “The wound had unusual markings around it, dark lines spreading around the edges. We thought maybe it was a poison but maybe it was magic.”
Dean nodded and went back to studying the book, but Harper’s insightful eyes lingered on her longer than she would’ve liked.
What’s the wind telling you now, old man?
“Well, whatever it is, it’s the key to undoing the spell,” Harper said. “Find the witch, find the spell focus, and destroy it.”
Joey barked a quiet laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”
Harper smiled, though there was little joy in it. “I assure you, Miss Grant, it will not be.”
20
Harper and Dean left Joey alone in the kitchen so she could call Emma and fill her in, not that she really needed privacy. She heard them go out onto the porch, which was thoughtful. The house was small enough that they probably would have heard every word otherwise.
Emma listened quietly while Joey explained what she’d learned and reacted in much the same way Dean had when the subject of astral projection came up.
“That’s real?”
“Why does it feel like everyone’s heard of this shit but me?” Joey grumbled, scowling.
“I’m only familiar with it as new age neopagan bullshit, does that help?”
“Not really. Anyway, the theory is that if we can find the spell focus and destroy it, Chris's spirit will be freed.”
“Freed to do what?” Emma asked, hesitation in her voice.
“Hell if I know. Dean says ‘cross over,’ the book says ‘fade away’… I think the important thing is that your old friend Tasha won’t be able to touch him anymore. He’ll be at peace.” Joey’s heart constricted at the thought of losing him all over again, but was there any alternative?
“Okay, so how do we find the spell focus?”
“Presumably, Tasha has it. We find her, we find it. You said tracing magical signatures is easy, right?”
The other end of the line went quiet for long enough that Joey started to wonder if she’d lost signal.
“You still there, Em?”
“Yeah, I just…”
“I know dropping your cloak spell will be risky for you, but do we have any other options?”
“I guess not, but it’s not that simple. In order to track her I need something that belongs to her.”
“Oh.” Joey gazed out the window in dismay as her plan crumbled around her, but remembered something a moment later that might shore it up. “I have something! I mean, I might have something. I found it at the crime scene. I’m not positive it’s hers but…”
“What is it?”
“A dreamcatcher. Or, something like it. It’s a—”
“Small wooden circle strung with thread?”
“Yeah.”
“If it is what I think it is, it’ll work. It’ll also help if I cast the spell at the crime scene. There should still be traces of her magic there I can tap into. But Joey, what do we do when we find her? It’s not like she’s just going to hand the focus over, and if she’s powerful enough to force someone’s spirit out of their body… I don’t know how to defend against that, much less whatever else she might have up her sleeve. I’ve been out of the game for years.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m not talking about confronting her, not right off the bat. Right now she holds all the cards. We need more information. Once we know where she is, we can scope it out, get some eyes on her, find out if she’s got backup…”
“We might not have that luxury if she detects my spell. I can’t just point her out on a map, I have to cast the spell and follow where it leads.”
Joey thought about it for a moment. “What about the money? That’s what she wants, right? We can trade.”
“Maybe, but it’s more likely that she’s been tasked with bringing me back. The money’s secondary.”
“Well, then she’s just going to have to go back with one hand empty because she’ll be doing that over my dead body.”
“Joey—”
“If you have a better idea I’d be more than willing to listen.”
There was a long pause, then Emma said, “Okay, I’ll do it.”
Joey breathed a relieved sigh and glanced toward the window. The sun was setting, and it’d be dark soon. “It’s probabl
y not a good idea to do this at night, so let’s plan for tomorrow. Chris hasn’t checked in yet today anyway, and I should talk to him before we go ahead.” She couldn’t keep the worry from her voice any more than she could keep Emma from picking up on it.
“I’m sure he’s okay, Joey. He’s strong.”
“I know. I’ll give you a call in the morning. Can you give me an idea of how long it’d take you to get to a meeting point downtown?” She still didn’t want to know where Emma was, but building a timeline was a good idea. This budding plan had a lot of moving parts.
“About three hours.”
Joey whistled, low. “Damn, girl. When you go to ground you go to ground.”
“Force of habit. I’ll see you soon.”
“Tell Cheryl I said hi,” Joey said, before hanging up.
She sat there alone for a few minutes, mulling over what she’d learned in the last twenty-four hours. Magic was real. Witches were real. Ghosts were real. Astral projection was, as Dean had put it, actually a thing. She wondered what else might be real. Vampires? Well, at least she knew they weren’t engaged in some sort of ancient war with lycanthropes. That probably would’ve come up in the newsletter, so to speak. Zombies? Voodoo? She was going to have to be a lot less dismissive about paranormal things, going forward. Sure, she was a werewolf, but she’d never seen or heard evidence of anything else going bump in the night out there. She’d always been a natural skeptic, but her eyes were wide open now.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the creak and thud of the screen door opening and closing in the next room. Standing, she went in there in time to see Harper step into a side room, closing the door behind him.
She found Dean out on the porch, nursing a cup of coffee. The sight of him there, silhouetted by the setting sun, was worth admiring. However, the creak of the screen door alerted him to her arrival and he turned toward her.
“Is she in?” he said.
“Tentatively, but yeah.” Joey slipped outside and closed the door behind her, not wanting to let any of the dogs out. They were pretty well behaved, but she wouldn’t want one to get carried off by a coyote or something. That might anger their host, and she wasn’t eager to do that. She had the distinct impression that she wouldn’t like him when he was angry.
